Sleeping in the Middle

These days I can only get up on one side of my bed in the morning.  The other side abuts a wall.  So I can be accused of never getting up on the wrong side, or always getting up on the wrong side.  From the way things have been going lately, it’s been feeling like the right side.  A modicum of peace and stability reigns.  When drama arises, it’s relatively short-lived and fairly well contained.

This hasn’t always been the case.  When I’ve shared a bed with a partner, life was, not surprisingly, more complicated.  The beds themselves posed issues.

My ex-husband brought a king-sized water bed into my life.  Let’s call this bed “Betty.”  Betty sounds cool and rather hip, but for me, she was not.  While I did manage to get some sleep on Betty, she never felt secure.  Betty felt amorphous, weird, unstable, awkward.  And sex?  Not going there.

I always had to think about what I put on top of Betty so as to avoid puncturing her with sharp objects and pointy edges.  Like cats’ claws, for instance.  Then there was always the fear of the disaster that would ensue if that unthinkable puncture or leak did occur.  I quietly dreaded the day when Betty would have to be moved.  Betty required special treatment. 

My next bed partner and I shared a queen-sized bed, regular mattress.  He had a penchant for sleeping on flannel sheets year-round, which I also acquiesced to.  Several problems here.  First, flannel sheets are not easy to move around on or between.  Lots of friction.  Combine that with overheating and sweat, and you’ve got a sticky flannel mess.  I was constantly throwing the blankets and top sheet off of me to cool down.

My flannel partner was also a sprawler.  Invariably he would encroach on my sleep space during the night with limbs and/or by rolling over to the point that by morning, my body precariously bordered the edge of the bed.  The urge to push gently back (okay, maybe not so gently sometimes) was often met with annoyance at having been woken up.  Spooning would have made the scenario much more comfortable and romantic, but the inclination towards such a “lemons to lemonade” adventure never seemed to manifest. 

Since this relationship’s end, I have lived and slept alone, but for the boyfriend spending the occasional night.  Fortunately this arrangement precludes chronic bed-sharing issues.  And when they do arise, I am relieved they are temporary, and I am once again left with the luxurious freedom to choose sleeping in the middle of my queen-sized bed with white cotton sheets.